


and we risk everything tonight

by orphan_account



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Carmilla is weird as fuck and needs to get away, F/F, Go to Morocco again or something, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:04:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4186095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hate yourself for it but you keep going back to her, keep begging for more of what she gives you and you can't stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we risk everything tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yuekazi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuekazi/gifts).



> This was done as a prompt/birthday gift for my best friend who requested that something be done with that mirror that's probably above the Dean's bed. It's set before the series' transmedia started meaning that it's probably 2013 or 1980 or something. I don't know.
> 
> Title from In This Moment's "Scarlet".

Maman’s hands are on your skin, your shirt open and your skin bared to the cold night air. You used to wonder why she never closed her windows, why she would let the wind wrap around her like this, but you know now. It doesn’t matter, though. Not now.

She runs her fingers across your stomach and you shudder as you kiss her desperately, wanting, needing more of her. You’re disgusted with yourself but she’s a warm body against yours and you need to get off more than you need to wrap yourself in your own pride.

“You’re such a good girl,” she whispers, pulling away for a moment. “No matter how far you travel, you always come back to me, my love.”

You nod meekly, your attitude, your insincerity falling away as you let her mould you into what she wants. You know that she loves you, that you are the only one she cares for like this, but you hate it. It is a corrupted love, tainted beyond rhyme or reason, and you hate her for it even as you love her.

Matska would mock you if it was anyone else, call you a hopeless romantic always chasing after the next great romance, but you both know that Maman has always treated you differently. Only she’s too far from you now and you can’t run to her when all is said and done, can’t seek the comfort that only she could give you.

You don’t want to think about this, though, don’t want to acknowledge the way your heart breaks with every touch, every word she whispers to you. Mother always did know how to make the truth hurt the most.

Instead, you move closer to her again, chasing after her as you quietly say, “Kiss me. Please, just...I need...I can’t...Maman, please, just kiss me.”

She spoils you too much, you think in that moment, giving in to your soft pleas as she holds you close. Her skin is hot where you touch her, panting when you start to linger in certain areas you know to be sensitive. A press of your fingers to that space beneath her shoulderblades, nails scraping down her spine. You know her body almost as well as she knows your own, tapping her wrists where you’ve caught them.

Maman grins when you pull away, lets you bring one of them to your lips. Your teeth sink down into her skin and she moans, head tipping back against the headboard. You drink greedily, her blood in your system like a long forgotten song.

She whispers your name and you let yourself come back to reality. The fall is painful but the high is worth it. Those words become a mantra in your mind, a prayer as you look at Maman.

“Sweet girl,” she says, her fingers coming up to brush your hair out of your eyes. You lean into her, more instinct than conscious thought, unable to stop yourself when she kisses your neck, her tongue licking the skin there. “You’re my precious girl.”

You swallow your answer, instead releasing your own moans as her hands come up to your breasts, kneading in time with the rhythm of her mouth as she presses kisses down your body. You don’t have a choice but to move to get onto your knees and then your feet as her mouth goes past your stomach, your hips.

You’re so wet for her, so willing to be her plaything. You used to wonder how she knew but now you’re shameless, one hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as she nips at your skin. Your head falls forward when you feel her tongue, your other hand bearing the weight of your body as you use the wall to support yourself.

Maman is relentless, hungry for you. She licks and sucks your clit, her fingers inside of you matching the rhythm as she fucks you like this. You want to die, to live, to breathe everything that is Maman in that moment, to prostrate yourself before her if it means that she will stay like this, will give you everything you desire.

It takes an embarrassingly short time for you to come, your legs buckling then failing you as your orgasm forces you to lose your balance. Maman supports you, holds you as you come down from your high with her front pressed against your back. Her fingers are questing again, moving across your body in random patterns.

There is no meaning to them, no way of knowing what they are, but you still feel as if she is imprinting herself on you, marking you as hers again. You remember when she first did this, when you had been in this position for the first time.

She had not been gentle then, time and change working their way to your present, but the past has a way of catching up with you, of exacting the debts you owe. It’s too bad, you reflect, that you deny it once more as Maman buries her teeth in your neck, biting down until red stains pristine white, your blood mixing with hers as it drips from her wrists.

She pulls back long enough to ghost her lips along your jaw. You turn and let her kiss you, let her devour you as she wants. You wonder when this will feel less like worship and more like whoring yourself out to the highest bidder.

(Maman would always be the one to win. She wants you for herself, wants you to belong to her only.)

Her breath mixes with yours as she speaks, breathing the words into you.

“Tell me what you see. If you stop, I stop.”

You know what she means, your head falling back onto her shoulder as you watch both your bodies intertwined in the reflection above you. Your fingers are tangled together, your body draped across hers. She’s gripping you tightly, her free hand tapping a steady beat on your waist. You want to smile, the mirror above you a more accurate reflection of your current relationship than you could hope for, but it’s not enough, will never be enough.

An insistent tap reminds you of your task and you swallow hard. You can’t speak, not when her hand is on you like that, slow, soft movements burning a path into your skin. Her movements are deliberately slow, a drawn out torment that you can’t escape from.

You gasp when she cups your breast, arching up into her hand. She smiles against you skin, her lips on the back of your neck murmuring something soft, soothing. Your fingers are unwound, hands parted as she raises hers to your hair, caressing it away from your body for a moment.

“Tell me, darling,” she mumbles, too focused on what she’s doing. You’ve only ever heard her like this behind closed doors, were always one of the privileged few.

“Maman, I…I can’t.”

“You can. You have before and you will again.”

She’s right and you know that. No matter how many times you swear this will be your last, you keep crawling back to her like a beast to its master. You’re not sure that that isn’t exactly what you are, that you aren’t completely within her power no matter how hard you try not to be.

“Maman, please, I…”

Her hand stills just as it’s about to go where you need it and you groan in frustration. Desire wars with pride and contempt, winning every time. You hate yourself for this but you need to feel her, to reach the edge. You are weak, a creature subject to your basest desires when you are with her and somehow, this has never changed.

You clear your throat, make an attempt at speaking, only, you can’t. There has always been something entrancing about Maman, something that keeps you close to her despite your need to escape. It keeps you grounded even as it sends you higher and higher.

“Maman, I…You’re…hands on me…going lower and lower…”

The very air seems to be bearing down on you, pressing you into Maman as she enacts what you see. The words are rushed, breathless as you speak, but there is little you can actually say when there is little else but a hazy union between want and disgust enveloping your senses as surely as Maman’s presence does the same.

You want to embellish, to add things in that are not happening just to see what she will do, but the nails scraping down your stomach as the fingers of her other hand move lower until they’re trailing through wet folds.

Maman’s teeth graze your neck and your eyes flutter shut for a moment. It feels so good, so intense and you want more, want to feel her inside of you the way you used to. Only, you can’t. Not now, not ever again.

The mirror blurs but you don’t realise that you’re crying until you feel a hand on your cheek, hastily wiped on the sheets as Maman uses the other to turn your body towards her. She whispers to you but you don’t understand it, can’t understand it. Still, the sound of her voice still has that strange effect on you and you find yourself falling asleep to the lilting sounds of an archaic dialect of Hebrew you never knew the name of.

As you go, you can’t help but think that there is something final about this, something that feels like the end. You grip her tighter and sleep, dreams taking you somewhere better, somewhere you won’t be able to feel that piercing sadness that consumes you.

Somehow, you think it’s better like this anyway.

 


End file.
